“Go put water in the tub,” she ordered, curtly. She glanced at the clock, silently calculating the time. Her father’s public breakfasts were long, drawn out affairs. A private breakfast, on the other hand, rarely lasted long. “I’ll come through in a moment.”
Mouse hesitated. “I …”
“Spit it out,” Alassa said, as kindly as she could. “What do you want to say?”
“There’s no hot water, Your Highness,” Mouse said. “I’ll have to go to the kitchens and …”
“Let me worry about that,” Alassa said. “Go fill the tub with cold water.”
Mouse bowed her head, then hurried off. Alassa smiled after her, reminding herself that it was better to be on good terms with one’s servants. Mouse probably wasn’t working for Alassa’s father – or her own father, come to think of it. And the chance to add Mouse to Alassa’s patronage network wasn’t one to miss. Who knew where Mouse would end up in the future?
She glanced at Jade and smiled, ruefully, as she realized he was still asleep. She’d worn him out last night, then. Her body thrummed with pleasure, reminding her of everything they’d done … her body already missed him dreadfully. She was tempted to wake him, but that might be too much for poor Mouse. Besides, he needed his sleep. She wasn’t sure what she’d be doing in the afternoon, but Jade had to inspect the additions to the wards and pass judgement on their suitability. King Randor might have hired dozens of wardcrafters, all experienced men, yet she trusted Jade more than any of them. He was bound to her in a way none of the others could match.
The sound of splashing water echoed out of the bathroom as she walked into the chamber, not bothering with a nightgown or even a towel. Mouse was carrying water from the vat and pouring it into the tub, her face flushed with the effort. Alassa wondered, sourly, if Lye was making an unsubtle jab at Alassa’s determination to limit the number of servants permanently attached to her household. The indignity of allowing the princess to actually dress herself – horror of horrors – was far exceeded by the annoyance of only having a limited number of slots that could be used for patronage. But then, it was still more than the Master of the Queen’s Bedchamber could distribute at will.
I must see Mother later, Alassa thought. Queen Marlena had been ill, off and on, for the last few years. It hadn’t escaped Alassa’s notice that her mother’s illness had coincided with her father’s affair with Alicia, Baroness Winter Flower … an affair that had produced a bastard son. Did Mother know that Alicia was pregnant before I found out?
“It’s cold, Your Highness,” Mouse said, nervously. Did she think she’d be blamed, even though she’d pointed it out already? It was far from uncommon. “I can go to the kitchens …”
“Don’t worry about it,” Alassa said. She drew on her magic, casting a heating spell. The water began to steam. She tested it gingerly – there were horror stories of idiots who’d nearly killed themselves by heating the water while they were still in the bath – then climbed up the steps and clambered into the tub. The hot water felt wonderful. “Pass me the soap.”
Mouse’s eyes went very wide. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Alassa allowed herself a wry smile. “Who’s your father?”
“Ah … Sir Monad,” Mouse said. “He was ennobled three years ago. Ah … he runs a shipping and trading concern, down by the docks. Your father knighted him because he … ah, did a service for the king.”
And he wasn’t a knight long enough for his daughter to learn the ropes, Alassa thought, understandingly. Imaiqah had had a difficult time making the transition from commoner to noblewoman … and she’d been close personal friends with both the Crown Princess and Baroness Cockatrice. But long enough for his daughter to enter my service.
She allowed Mouse to wash her blonde hair as she sat back in the tub, enjoying the warm sensation. Whitehall had spoilt her in that regard, at least; hot and cold running water on demand was a rarity outside the castle, save for a handful of magical homes. When she was queen, she was going to have it installed even if it meant tearing down half the castle to put in the pipes. It was hard to believe, now, that she’d once gone two or three days between showers or baths. She must have smelt foul.
“I don’t need a formal gown to visit my father,” she said. Dressing up all the time was frustrating – there were dresses and gowns in her wardrobe she knew she’d never use again – but there was no need to wear a fancy dress to breakfast. They would be alone. “Can you get the green morning dress and its accompanying underwear out of the wardrobe and place them on the bed?”
Mouse blinked. “Do you not require help drying?”
“No,” Alassa said, amused. She wondered if Mouse would realize just how relaxed she’d become. “I’ll be fine.”
She watched the maid hurry away, then lifted herself out of the tub. Water ran down her body, dripping to the floor. She gathered herself and cast a drying spell, banishing the water into nothingness. Her hair flowed out, then formed into a long blonde ponytail. It wasn’t strictly formal – she’d have to have it redone before she allowed herself to be seen in public – but it would do. Her father wouldn’t care if she was dressed formally or not.
Mouse was waiting for her as she walked into the dressing room. It had apparently been designed as a smaller bedroom, although she’d never been sure why. How many husbands was she expected to have? One of her ancestors might have kept a wife and a mistress in his quarters, she supposed, but it might have been seen as a step too far. An aristocratic wife might be expected to turn a blind eye to her husband’s whoring, yet rubbing her nose in his infidelity would have provoked resentment. Someone whose father or brothers were politically powerful could have caused all kinds of trouble.
She shook her head when Mouse offered to help her, donning the underclothes before pulling the long dress over her head. It was delightfully simple, unlike the white gowns she was expected to wear in public; it went well, she felt, with her golden hair and pale skin. She inspected her appearance in the mirror – the dress hinted at her curves, rather than revealing them for all to see – and nodded in satisfaction. She was a wife now. She no longer needed to display herself quite so blatantly.
Not that it would have mattered, she thought, wryly. She was the Crown Princess, not Mouse or another common-born girl. I could be uglier than Lye and smellier than a pig-boy and men would still be lining up to marry me.
“You look stunning, Your Highness,” Mouse said.
“Thank you,” Alassa said.
She smiled, rather wanly. It was a good thing Lye hadn’t heard that opinion, because she would have disagreed. Alassa had to wear fancy clothes and be draped in jewels if she wanted to look the part of a princess. The simple green dress was more suited to a junior noblewoman than the heir to the throne. But Alassa found it hard to care.
When I am queen, she thought as she led the way back into her bedchamber, my daughter will be able to wear what she likes.
She touched her stomach, once again. It would be easy, very easy, to cast a spell to determine if she was truly pregnant. But she didn’t really want to know. There would be no question of paternity, of course, but … It would be easier, she thought, to cope with a miscarriage if she hadn’t had time to anticipate holding her child in her arms. And, perhaps, to change the laws to ensure that a firstborn daughter could inherit …
It was a bitter thought. She understood the logic that insisted sons should always have precedence over daughters, but … she hated it. It would have galled her, seven years ago, to know that her baby brother was going to take the throne. Now, as an adult – and the Confirmed Crown Princess – it would have driven her into a murderous rage. She had no idea what she would have done if her mother had somehow become pregnant again, but she doubted it would have included standing aside for a younger boy.
She glanced towards the concealed door, hidden within the stone walls and covered by layer after layer of obscurification charms. It was her most secret chamber, warded so heavily
that only she could gain access. The spells were so tightly bound to her that the entire compartment would be incinerated if she died. And inside … she winced, inwardly, as she thought about what Jade would say if he knew she had a couple of forbidden books. She’d purchased them in First Year, back when her father had started to plan her marriage; she’d paid a steep price for them, a price she didn’t want to think about … she’d seen no choice, of course, but still …
Jade wouldn’t be happy if he knew I had them, she thought. There were some magics that were too dangerous to use, unless one was desperate. And Father wouldn’t be happy either.
But she had been desperate. The prospect of being married to a monster – or even someone who thought a wife should be seen, but not heard – had been terrifying. She’d known it was her duty, yet … she’d planned for the worst. The price she’d paid would have been more than worthwhile if she’d needed the forbidden spells. And …
Mouse squeaked. Alassa glanced up, sharply. Jade was standing by the bed, reading a note someone must have posted through the door. He was naked, facing them … his face reddened as he saw Mouse. He wasn’t used to being naked in front of strangers either …
“Father has summoned me for a private breakfast,” Alassa said, as Jade hastily grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around his waist. His muscles were still clearly visible, his skin marred with scars from his training. “Did Sir William summon you?”
“Yes,” Jade said, holding out the note. He didn’t show any resentment at being excluded from breakfast. “I’ll see you in the afternoon?”
“I hope so,” Alassa said. She wanted to kiss him, but she suspected that would be far too much for Mouse. “Have fun.”
She led the way into the antechamber and pulled on a pair of shoes. There was no sign of Lady Lye, thankfully. Alassa made a mental note to ensure that Mouse got some kind of reward for her services. She’d done better than some of Alassa’s noble-born ladies. They seemed to expect the princess to treat them as her closest friends and took it as an insult when they weren’t allowed to gossip with her. And then they expected her to arrange decent matches for them …
“You can go now,” she said, to Mouse. “My compliments to Lady Lye, please, and she’s to put you on morning duty for the rest of the week.”
Mouse looked conflicted. Alassa didn’t really blame her. Lady Lye’s “punishment” had misfired. If, of course, it was a punishment …
Alassa strode down the corridor, not looking back. The private corridors were open only to the king, his family and his closest allies. She passed no one as she walked up to her father’s private door and pressed her hand against the wood. The wards took longer, this time, to open the door. Her father was growing more and more paranoid in his old age.
I nearly died on my wedding day, she reminded herself. He has reason to be paranoid.
The door opened. Bracing herself, she stepped inside.
Chapter Four
ALASSA WOULD NEVER HAVE ADMITTED IT, but there were times when she envied Imaiqah’s easy relationship with her father before his death. Imaiqah’s father had been a kind man, as loving to his daughters as he’d been to his sons, while Alassa’s father had been a distant figure in her youth. King Randor had rarely paid any attention to her, even after she’d started to show signs of powerful magic. He hadn’t even bothered to discipline her when she’d turned into a royal brat.
She curtseyed as the door closed behind her, taking advantage of the opportunity to study her father. He was a tall, powerfully-built man, but she could see flecks of white within his brown hair and beard. It was hard to see a resemblance between herself and her father, save for the blue eyes. His meaty face was so unlike hers that it was hard to believe he was her father. But her paternity had been checked a hundred times before she’d reached her first birthday. She was his only legitimate child.
“Rise,” her father intoned. He sounded tired, as if he hadn’t slept. “Join me.”
Alassa rose and walked over to the table. It was surprisingly small for the castle, with only enough room for ten guests. The maids had laid two places, facing each other, and put a handful of dishes and a steaming jug of Kava in the middle. Alassa sat and poured herself a mug as she inspected the food. Bacon and eggs; bread, fried tomatoes and mushrooms … her stomach heaved at the sight. She’d grown used to heavy breakfasts at Whitehall – magicians had to eat to fuel their spells – but right now she couldn’t face it. She took a piece of bacon and some bread, resolving to eat something lighter later. It wasn’t as if anyone would dare question her eating habits.
Her father waited for her to take a sip, then leaned forward. “You left your escort,” he said, curtly. “What were you thinking?”
Alassa made a face. “That no one would dare attack us so close to the capital,” she said. “And that it was a moment of freedom before we returned home.”
“And it nearly got you captured or killed,” King Randor pointed out. “You were lucky.”
“I was good, Father,” Alassa said, stiffly. She knew he had a point – she had been lucky – but she’d trained hard and well. “They didn’t know who they were trying to capture.”
Her father pointed a finger at her. “They knew,” he said. “If they hadn’t underestimated you, young lady, you’d be a prisoner now. Or dead.”
Alassa felt her temper start to rise. She liked it when her father paid attention to her, but this …? “When you were my age,” she said, “you were commanding armies in the field.”
“When I was your age, I had a little brother,” King Randor countered. “And if I had been captured or killed, Alassa, it would still have been bad.”
“You were taking the field at twelve,” Alassa snapped. It was true, although – reading between the lines – it was clear that King Alexis had attached an older officer to his son’s command to make sure the inexperienced boy didn’t make too many mistakes. “How many chances do I get to prove my worth?”
“My brother is only three years younger than I,” her father said. His tone was reasonable, but the hard look in his eye made it clear he was annoyed. “Not to be repeated. Clear?”
Alassa sighed. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t had anything like the opportunities her grandfather had given her father, not least because there had been no real doubt over the succession. Her uncle was the spare, not someone who’d jumped ahead of his brother through an accident of birth. If she’d started earning respect at twelve, instead of terrifying everyone with her magic …
But there was no point in arguing. “Clear.”
“Glad to hear it,” her father said. She doubted he believed she really accepted his decrees. They might look different, but they were very similar on the inside. It made it all the more galling that her father had tried so hard for a male heir, rather than training his daughter to take his place. “The bodies were of indeterminate origin.”
“Armsmen,” Alassa said, flatly.
“Quite,” King Randor agreed. “But whose armsmen?”
Alassa shrugged. There were hundreds of potential suspects, although the number of suspects powerful or desperate enough to risk attacking the Crown Princess openly was quite small. One of the barons, perhaps. A lesser nobleman would have to be completely insane to risk it. The various radical factions amongst the commoners might be less inclined to respect her rank, but they’d have problems finding mercenaries willing to expose themselves so openly. And they had no trained armsmen …
“You visited Gladstone,” King Randor said, after a moment. “Was he pleased to see you?”
“I believe he remains loyal,” Alassa said. “But I don’t know how long that will last.”
She sighed, again. Baron Gladstone had been her father’s ally for longer than Alassa had been alive. He hadn’t taken any part, as far as anyone knew, in any of the coup attempts. But she knew that was meaningless. Gladstone would put his family ahead of everything else. If he thought there was a reasonable chance the barons would come out
ahead, he’d switch sides without hesitation. It would be the only way to protect his son’s inheritance.
King Randor quirked an eyebrow. “Indeed?”
“His estates have quite a few radical factions now,” Alassa told him. “And the peasants are getting uppity. They’re not running off to the nearest cities now.”
“I see,” he said. “That isn’t good news.”
Alassa nodded. Technically, aristocrats were supposed to hunt down peasants who fled the land for the cities within a year and a day or the peasants would become de facto freemen. In practice, the cities served as an escape valve. Peasants and serfs who might become dangerous could take their ambitions elsewhere. The ones left behind didn’t have the nerve to rise up against their masters. But if the radicals weren’t going to the cities …
“It is something we’ll have to deal with, sooner or later,” he said. He sounded calmer now. “Your friend has caused a great deal of change.”
Alassa kept her face impassive. Emily was one of her closest friends, but Alassa wasn’t blind to Emily’s shortcomings … or the dangers her innovations posed. The spread of reading and writing alone had changed Zangaria in ways Alassa suspected Emily had never anticipated, while gunpowder and steam engines were threatening to reshape the world. There was already a quiet, but vicious arms race underway as countries and free cities sought to develop their own gunpowder weapons and improve upon the design. Whatever Emily had sought to do, it couldn’t be denied that the changes had already spun out of control.
And now word is spreading across the countryside, Alassa thought. Writing had once been the domain of noblemen and scribes. Now, anyone could write. Who knows where it will end?
“She meant well, Father,” Alassa said, gently.
Her father gave her a sharp look. He hadn’t forgiven Emily, then. It was sheer luck that so few people knew what had really happened after the wedding. Alassa would have found it hard to forgive Emily too. Humiliation, even private humiliation, was the kind of thing that tended to gnaw at people.
Alassa's Tale: a Schooled in Magic novella Page 4